#sorry if my wording is poor

[kafus]

hi I have a question thats kind of general in terms of gaming. Mastering mechanics or maxing some if not all aspects of certain games is pretty enjoyable to me and obviously I appreciate that about some of the stuff you do, my question is on whether you think mastery most readily comes from actually using guides and online references or people who just do and explore every crevice of everything themselves. I had like a two hour convo with a friend but she couldnt really figure out an answer!

aw i appreciate it lol

tbh i don’t think i can say either way though because… i think both are required, usually? it does also depend on the game some i think, but like, for example i literally only play pokemon pretty much, and it would be ludicrous to re-document everything about pokemon myself, figure out everything about pokemon myself. sites like bulbapedia exist for a reason. that would essentially require the ability to read assembly and do software decomp to be considered a “master” of the game or a mechanic in it, which i just don’t think is reasonable! and knowing how to efficiently find & understand information about niche mechanics online is part of the skill, i think

that being said, reading guides online cannot replace hands-on experience and self-research. obviously if you want to master something you have to actually do it and that’s no different with video games. i think generally if you are really experienced with a game and playing it enough to be considered in some way a “master” of it you will naturally learn more about it or discover new things about it by playing it, including stuff which may not even be easily reference-able online

this ask makes me think of speedrunning and how popular speedgames have community resources and guides, but then when someone gets really acquainted with a speedrun, they may discover new routes or glitches on their own. this is basically how i feel about the topic in general including outside of speedrunning lol

[pastafossa]

"Sharing is Caring" (Matt Murdock x F!Reader, Fic, 🔥)

Time for the next prompt for my Tuna-Tober prompt challenge! This is for day 4 (Matt very much did not like this only being a drabble so now it's 5600 words, fuck me), I chose to combine the kink and fluff prompts (69 and 'Are you blushing?'). You can see the rest of the prompts I've chosen here if you'd like to know what's coming this month from me. Also, if you'd like notifications when I post a new story, drabble, or chapter, you can follow my sideblog @pastaxandria and set it for notifications! And off we go!

Ship: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Wordcount: 5.6k, Matt fought me and won

Warnings for this chapter, let's do this: smutty smut smut, 69 position so oral for both plus face riding, overstimulation, lil bit of prostate stim, multiple orgasms, panty tearing, matt is a MENACE

LOOK AT THIS SMUG MOTHERFUCKER, I HAD A NEAT AND ORDERLY TIMELINE AND A DRABBLE OUTLINE, INSTEAD HE THREW THAT OUT THE WINDOW AND HE HAS FILLED THIS FIC WITH SIN, THE AUDACITY, WHAT TIME IS IT, MATT THIS IS YOUR FAULT

Matt was a giving lover. That much you knew. 

No round of sex with Matt ended without at least one orgasm for you, and often more if he had his way, which he often did, the audacity of that man. It wasn’t unusual for him to spend hours with his head buried between your thighs, skilled tongue lapping hungrily at your sex in a way that made you see stars, and had also led to you tearing a hole in the sheets on more than one occasion. He’d bent you over every last surface in the apartment, and some of the surfaces outside it too. Somehow he always managed to sink himself so deeply inside you that you’d have sworn you felt him in your throat, and that feeling was always followed by him fucking into you with a practiced athleticism that never failed to leave you a melted, howling mess. 

In other words, if sex with you was an artform, your climax was the masterpiece Matt lovingly devoted himself to creating. You’d never been with someone who took such joy in giving you pleasure. But sometimes he was… too giving.

Like now, when what you wanted was to get that thick cock of his into your mouth. 

“Oh, but sweetheart, I’m so hungry,” he purred, a warm, distracting light in his eyes. He was all heat and hungry fire where he stood in the bedroom doorway, a slow, lazy lick of his lips that admittedly had your cunt clenching around nothing. That look meant he had no intention of letting you out of bed for at least the next three hours. The growing outline of his hardening cock against his slacks only confirmed your suspicion as his voice dropped into something low and tempting. “I’ve been thinking about tasting you all day. It’s the only reason I got through work. Let me get my mouth on you, just for a little while. I’ll make it good for you, you know I will. Don’t you want that?”

It was a good offer. A very good offer, and one he was more than capable of fulfilling. You both knew it. But damn it, you also knew what you wanted. 

“No,” you said stubbornly, crossing your arms. “I don’t want that.” “Lie,” he murmured. His head cocked, his sightless gaze dropping to your chest, and then lower until they landed somewhere around your hips. His lips slowly curled up into a smirk. “Mm, big lie.” “...Alright, so maybe I always want that,” you admitted reluctantly, biting your lip as you stared down at the outline of your prize, heavy and thick even through the cloth. It was enough to make your mouth water. “But right now I want to suck you off more.” 

And god, did you ever. It was rare for him to let you go down on him, but those memories had become regulars in your fantasies. There was just something about his soft moans and hitched whines when you took him in your mouth, the way he threw his head back and his mouth hung slack, his spine arching when you let the tip of your tongue gently brush that spot below the head of his cock until he fucking begged for you to swallow him down. And if you kept going after he’d already come, kept sucking at his softening cock and pressed your knuckle just right behind his balls, drove his trembling, writhing body carefully into overstimulation, you could even drag something like a second orgasm out of him in short succession. He’d been a melted, purring, barely coherent puddle for a good hour when you'd last managed it and you had every intention of seeing if you couldn’t do it again. 

His brows shot up, as if he were genuinely surprised at just how truthful you’d been, or maybe surprised at just aroused the thought of your mouth on him made you. But those same brows quickly furrowed in open confusion. “You…” His head shifted back and forth, checking again that you were telling the truth. “You want that? Over me going down on you?” “Why is it so hard to believe I want you like you want me?” You snorted, wandering over to him until you could lean in and kiss him playfully. He still seemed puzzled, but he made a little huff of amusement when you did it again, dragging your nails down the front of his shirt. His chest rumbled beneath your touch, a quiet groan of pleasure. “Come on. Share, Matt. Let me have a taste this time.” 

He tipped his head down slowly towards you, clearly tempted. You leaned into him, another rumble leaving him when your lips brushed tantalizingly against the corner of his mouth. You almost had him. The blatant note of your arousal in the air would only help your case now that you were up close. There was a growing flush on his cheeks, and his nostrils flared, taking your scent in when you not-so-subtly rubbed your thighs together. You slowly hooked one finger in his belt, giving it a tug. “Please?” Your desire left you almost breathless, the word hushed and pleading. You weren’t above begging if you needed to. “I need you in my mouth, Matt. You can have me after, can’t you?” “Or…” He drew his lower lip between his teeth for a moment, sucking lightly before letting it go,  his mouth parted and wet. “Or we can both get what we want, with a few adjustments.” Oh. 

Your breath caught, and you went still, something thick and rich as molten honey rolling through your veins. “Why, sweetheart,” he murmured, dipping his head until he could feather his lips over your ear. One of his fingers brushed over your sternum, so light you almost didn’t feel it, before it traced its way gradually up your throat to your cheek, stirring all the tiny hairs in its wake. “Are you blushing?” “No,” you whispered, caught up in visions of what that might look like, feel like, to have his tongue licking its way hungrily into your cunt, all while you took his cock in your mouth and tried your best to make him lose his mind. Would he grow sloppy then, clumsy when you toyed with the head of him? Or would he tap into that focus of his, the two of you in a blatant competition to see who broke first? You wouldn’t deny just how wet the idea made you, but that would also be a lot of sensation for him, especially when you both knew he could come from the taste of your cunt alone. “Or… yes, I… Would that be… too much? Your senses—”

“I’ll be fine. I may have…” He let out a low chuckle, his own cheeks now the lightest bit pink as he cleared his throat. “I may have gone into the office bathroom before I left work, and… taken care of myself. I’d been thinking about my head between your thighs all day. I had to make sure I could get home.”

The visual slammed into you with the force of a truck: Matt with one scarred hand pressed tight over his mouth to stifle his moans while he frantically stroked at his cock. And it was all because he’d spent hours thinking about how he was going to go home, throw you into bed, and find his way right down to your cunt. Your low moan was quickly swallowed up as he caught your chin and tipped your head up so his lips could find yours. The kiss was all teeth and burning heat, fire and fierce need, his stubble rasping against your skin until you felt like you were on fire. One of his hands swept down and behind you, fingers spread wide as he groped roughly, greedily against your ass. He used that same grip to haul you forward into him, making you whine when his hips ground into yours, letting you feel exactly what you’d done to him. “Fuck,” he breathed. “I can smell you, how wet you are. Tell me you want that, sweetheart. Tell me—” “God yes, please, please, Matt.”

You didn’t bother to keep track of where your clothes fell as you both stumbled your way into the bedroom, neither of you willing to pull your hands and mouths off each other long enough to figure that out. You managed to get everything off but your panties by the time you neared the bed, and you fully intended to slide those off, too, but you were distracted by the pleasure of Matt’s mouth as he determinedly nipped and licked at the skin of your throat, blatantly drinking the pheromones from your skin. Fortunately, Matt was a bit less distracted.

The tearing of fabric rang out, and then Matt’s fingers slipped between your soaked folds, stroking three fingers eagerly along your slit until you gasped out his name. 

“Oops,” he said with a smirk.

“You’re paying for those,” you grumbled. “Happily.” He side stepped around you, and by the time you’d turned he was already on the bed,  rolling onto his back and tipping his head back in clear expectation. Then he brought his wet, gleaming fingers up to his mouth, inhaling intently as he rubbed his fingers together. The reaction was immediate: a fierce groan, his other hand shooting down to wrap tightly around his cock as his hips bucked. 

“Shit,” you whispered, absolutely mesmerized as he took another greedy breath, a creeping flush spreading across his pale skin. He may have come an hour or so ago, but his cock already looked achingly hard, the whole of it flushed dark and red, a decadent droplet of precum beading at the tip. He was an absolute vision, all of that strength and power, the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen laid out like a meal for you, this affected just by the thought, the scent of your arousal. It lit a fire in you, and Matt must have sensed it, because he let out a growl before giving in and shoving his fingers into his mouth. His eyes snapped shut, a loud moan tearing through him. His other hand started to stroke quickly at his cock, firm drives up with a smooth sweep of his palm over the head before sliding back down, all as he sucked the taste of you eagerly from his fingers, unwilling to lose even a single drop. It was one of the hottest things you’d ever seen. “Holy shit, you’re trying to kill me.” “Get up here and ride my face, sweetheart,” he grit out, shifting to let his thumb rub against the wet head of his cock. A delicious shiver ran through him, and he rolled his head on the pillow to face you. There was something far darker in his eyes, then, whispers of the Devil, of merciless rain on hard city streets. “Do it before I drag you up here myself, because I’m not going to fucking care if you can reach my cock when I do.”

It was the only invitation you needed, and you scrambled up onto the bed before he could change his mind. You had no intention of missing the opportunity he’d given you. 

You hit another brief snag, however, once you’d crawled over to him. You’d ridden his face before, but that had always been with you facing the headboard or the arm of the couch. This required the opposite angle. After a moment’s consideration, one that ended quickly when Matt growled a warning, you muttered a quiet, “fuck it,” and did a half turn, throwing your leg quickly over him so you had a knee on either side of his shoulders. Then you walked back a step or two on your knees, Matt’s free hand taking the meat of your thigh in his grip. It was difficult to figure out just where you needed to be to get the angle right. All you could see from this angle was his body stretched out like a long, open road before you, his other hand still stroking roughly at his cock, his knees bent, feet braced so he could rut lazily up into his grip. You didn’t really know where to put your hands, so you settled for placing them against the broad line of his chest, using them to brace yourself as you tentatively adjusted.

Matt, however, had lost his patience. 

With a snarl, he let go of his cock. Both his hands caught your hips, and with one hard yank he wrenched you down, burying his mouth against your pussy as if he hadn’t eaten in days. 

You both let out a sharp moan, Matt’s far more muffled than yours. There was no gentleness now, no parting you with his fingers to tease you with the tip of his tongue before settling in. Instead, it was something ravenous and filthy, animalistic, Matt’s mouth open wide as he licked and sucked at your folds and slit, greedily drinking up every last drop of your arousal he could find. For a moment you forgot what your plan had been. Your head fell to rest against his abdomen, your lips parted on a whine as Matt devoured your slick with heavy grunts and rumbles of approval, your hips starting to rock against his mouth. He was eating at you with everything in him, no thought given to things like air, based on his hitched breathing and muffled groans. He’d told you once, lips curled into a smirk, his chin still wet with your arousal, that if he died between your thighs, well, he’d consider that death a victorious one. 

“Mm—Matt, oh god, please,” you whimpered, your fingers curling against his skin, red lines left in your wake.

 Apparently satisfied that he’d taken in everything he could get, Matt tipped his head down just a hair, using his grip on your hips to adjust you until his tongue found your clit. With a purr, he began to lap warmly, steadily at it, over and over and over again, every now and then pursing his lips to kiss at it with a fond affection that was almost tender. The attention to your clit made your eyes flutter shut, quiet whimpers escaping you with each pass of his tongue, your body clenching in want. At the fresh trickle of wetness, Matt groaned in delight. “Taste so good, sweetheart, all mine,” he slurred warmly, syllables thick and sounding almost drugged, before his tongue found you again, falling right back into his aphrodisiac of choice. As he did, his body began to shift beneath you, before settling into a steady rocking. Startled, your eyes fluttered open, and you glanced down his body. What you saw made your mouth fall slack.

Matt had begun to roll his hips, rutting up in lazy waves. At first you thought it might be an invitation, a reminder, but as you watched you quickly realized what he was doing. With every flex and buck of his hips, he managed to rub his cock against his abdomen, just a little. You could already see the smears of precum pooling in the lines and grooves of flexing muscle, and that only made each successful contact smoother, Matt’s moans against your cunt growing stuttered and hoarse. It likely wouldn’t have been enough sensation for anyone else, but for Matt and his senses, it was just enough to drive him further upwards, his thick thighs starting to tremble. Hell, he was probably enjoying it, considering how he liked to tease himself. 

Fortunately, it was also a reminder of what you’d wanted to do. 

You quickly stretched out above him, headed for your goal. Your hips shifted just a little as you did, and Matt let out a low, possessive growl, his hands tightening on your hips in a warning. He didn’t like the idea that you might pull away before he was done, you had a feeling.

“Relax.” You choked out a shaky laugh, lowering your head to kiss fondly at the crest of his hip. Your affection softened his growl to a gentler, contented groan. “Just-just trying to get to you.” He seemed soothed by that, at least. Then again, maybe he just wasn’t listening, far too focused on your cunt to really hear you. Either way it didn’t matter, because you’d finally maneuvered yourself to where you’d wanted to be. You braced one hand shakily on his thigh, some of your weight settling down on top of him. His chest rose and fell on a happy sigh beneath you, more than happy to have you sprawled out over him. It also meant his cock was now in range of your mouth. 

It was even more tantalizing up close, flushed, wet, and practically begging for your attention even if Matt’s mouth was otherwise occupied. You eagerly caught the base of it, wrapping your fingers tight around it. Beneath you he let out a grunt, his tongue faltering against your clit. You had no interest in waiting any longer, so without a second’s hesitation you dipped your head and stuck out your tongue, catching one of the drops of precum rolling down the shaft. From there you rose with one long drag along his length, following that damp trail back up to his tip like you might a melting drop of ice cream. The moment your tongue swept over the head of Matt’s cock, he let out a startled moan, one that morphed into a hoarse cry when you lapped warmly at his slit, chasing the taste of him, taking in every fresh drop that welled up beneath your attention. It had been far too long since you’d gotten to taste him like this, bitter and salty in equal measure, the scent of musk and sex so much stronger here.

“God,” he choked out, squirming beneath you, his hands practically clawing at your hips. His head dropped back and away from your cunt as he gasped up to the ceiling, breath hitching on a high moan as the strokes of your tongue grew more firm. “Ah-ah! Your mouth, sweetheart, I need it, just—”

Time to see if you could break him before he broke you.

You dropped your mouth open wide before starting to slide him into your mouth, using your hand at his base to angle him and make it a little easier. But easier was… relative. 

Shit, you thought with a low moan, one that had Matt crying out behind you. He was so fucking thick, broad enough that you felt a faint ache in your jaw, saliva already leaking out past the corners of your mouth to drip down his length. There was no graceful way to swallow him down, but the sensation of your saliva rolling down his shaft, your stifled huffs through your nose as you slowly worked your way down his cock had him absolutely wrecked. His body trembled beneath you, his hips jerking in an only barely aborted attempt to thrust up into the warm, wet cavern of your mouth. He actually whined when you gave him your first little suck, and those whines only grew in number as you did it again, his panting music to your ears, so wet you were practically dripping down onto him. And maybe you really had, because before you could blink, he’d yanked your hips back down. This time, however, he brought his hands around so he could use his thumbs to part your body for him. With a wild moan, he’d buried his mouth against your slit, licking hotly at your opening over and over until he’d managed to worm his tongue inside you.

Your eyes rolled back at the feel of his tongue lapping eagerly at your inner walls, his chin grinding roughly against your clit. He’d burrowed in so hard against you it was if were intent on drowning, on latching onto you and never letting go. The angle was perfect, and you found yourself grinding down instinctively against his face, riding his tongue inside you and the stubbled texture of his chin, chasing your pleasure just as you were seeking his. His delighted moan as you started to use him the way he wanted was so muffled you swore he shouldn’t have been able to breathe, but still you couldn’t bring yourself to stop, whining around the length of him in your mouth as he slurped deeper, your thighs locking up around his head, his skin slick with you. He was dangerously close to coming based on the way his cock had started to throb against your tongue, and you weren’t much further behind, but he was clearly aiming to get you there first.

No.

No, you wanted to ruin him too.  Focus, just a little more. You clumsily lifted your head halfway up before skating back down to meet your hand around his base. Neither of you were coordinated enough to make this last much longer, too distracted by the rising waves of pleasure, but that didn’t matter. You knew his body. You could outlast him, by a few seconds at least. But to do that, you’d need one more thing. So, determined to win, you quickly worked your free hand down past his cock, pausing to knead briefly at his sac just for the way it made him moan roughly against your cunt before you drifted past it. You didn’t slide your fingers inside him—something you both hadn’t tried quite yet—but you did curl one finger and press your knuckle up gently just behind his balls, indirect pressure against that spot deep inside him. 

His back arched so sharply and suddenly beneath you he almost managed to throw you off, and his choked gasp hit air as he threw his head back. With a shaky whine, he ground down desperately against your finger before snapping his hips up, clearly torn between the wet suction of your mouth around his cock and the firm pressure against his prostate. But unlike last time he’d thrown his head back, this time you followed his mouth with your hips. You were too close to that edge now to go without it, especially not with the noises he was making—whimpers and broken moans, slurred pleas—so you tried desperately to find his lips again, grinding down against his face. And though you were reluctant to let him go, you still managed to tear your mouth off his cock just long enough to gasp out, “Fuck, Matt, please!” 

Your begging dragged him up out of his haze, and he hunted for your clit with his lips and tongue, licking at your cunt until he finally found it. He closed his lips around it just as you did the same to the head of his cock. Two warm pulls of your mouth to match his, and with one more shove of your finger against that spot inside him, he cried out and came hard into your mouth in salty, bitter waves that tasted like fucking satisfaction. His hoarse moans, desperate and so very needy wound up pushing you the rest of the way. Matt’s tongue lapped sloppily against your clit, and with a moan that matched his, you joined him in falling over the edge, your body tightening and releasing in a rolling tide of pleasure that left you floating, whimpering his name around his cock. He quickly shoved his mouth against your slit, grunting as he greedily drank down everything your body gave him. 

You thought you were done, then, your chest heaving, your thighs shaking as the waves began to ease into aftershocks. Matt nuzzled roughly at your clit, his tongue brushing over it almost curiously. Abruptly he moaned, dragging your hips back down. “Don’t stop,” he rasped hoarsely, yanking your hips back down. Just like that, his mouth was on your clit again, which was great except that you still hadn’t quite finished the last orgasm. The sudden rush of overstimulation before you could fully come down left you shaking, clawing wildly at his thighs, but your squirming got you nowhere, your hips firmly held in an iron grip.

Don’t stop. 

There wasn’t much you could do but follow the instruction. 

You moaned and began to suck clumsily at him, the velvet softness of his cock cradled gently on your tongue. The noise he let out was strangled and hoarse, almost pained, because this had to be too much for him, it had to be, and yet… he couldn’t resist starting to rock up instinctively against your mouth, a broken whimper breathed against your cunt when you managed to probe your tongue against the tip of him. You knew, distantly, remembered that you’d had this plan: if you did this fast enough, did this just right, using his senses to your benefit, you could make him come again. And, well, it had helped before, so you slipped on hand down between his legs again, grinding your finger hard against that spot inside him in steady waves, sucking harder at his cock just for the way it made him writhe. His head snapped back against the pillows, his hands dropping away from you to fist in the sheets. He brokenly cried out your name, his thighs trembling, but you didn’t care, your goal in sight. One of these days you were going to get your fingers inside him to see what noises he made then, and just to taunt him, you hooked and curled your fingers against his soft skin, your message clear. 

You weren’t sure who was more startled when he came—you, or him—but  either way, he did, his cock only half-hard at best as he snapped his hips up, his body locking up as he spilled into your mouth. He made a sound you’d never heard from him before, one part shout and one part high, hitching moan, the sounds rising falling with each jagged wave of pleasure you dragged him through, almost enough to hide the sound of tearing fabric. There wasn’t much left for his body to give, granted, but you still accepted those few drops anyway, swallowing them down with a satisfied moan as you milked him dry, massaging your fingers against his cock and that spot inside him to drag it out. You didn’t stop until his sounds grew pained, and even then it was a struggle. You had to force yourself to lift your head, sitting back against his chest. The sudden return of pressure against your clit made you whimper, your body shaking, because despite the overstimulation, as predicted he’d managed to shove you up far enough again that you were hanging right on the edge again, orgasm just a breath away.

“Matt,” you choked out, not even sure what it was you needed—his hand maybe, or even just for him to hold still so you could ride some part of him, be it his chest or his abdomen. One glance over your shoulder, however, let you unsure of what he might be able to give. 

Matt’s head was still thrown back on the pillow, his wet mouth hanging open as he panted, hair damp and sticking up in every direction. His eyes were glazed over and dark, absent any real awareness or thought. You knew that look. It was one you usually only saw when you’d really managed to fuck him senseless or leave him wrecked. He was out of it, his senses momentarily overloaded, out of order, come back later. You quickly pulled yourself off of him, just in case your weight over him had been unpleasant. He’d need some time to come back to himself, but fortunately, sitting here and staring at what you’d done—Matt Murdock, fucked out and drunk off your body—would be just the sort of visual you needed as you took care of yourself. You dropped one hand, sliding it between your legs until you could circle your clit with your fingertips, your lips parting on a satisfied moan. It wasn’t as good as Matt, but it was good enough.

Or… that’s what you thought you’d do, until Matt’s head snapped in your direction. His hand darted up, grabbing for you.

Except that he missed, his hand snatching at the empty air about two inches to your left.

“Matt,” you huffed shakily, using your other hand to take his. He probably just wanted to stay close, he usually did when you got him like this. “I’m-I’m fine, just, unh, gonna fini—Matt!” 

Your hand brushing against his had apparently been the compass he needed. You abruptly found yourself shoved back onto the bed with a grunt. He was on his hands and knees before you could blink, scrambling and groping around the bed to feel out how you’d fallen, his eyes burning and wild. The moment he made contact with you again, he shoved his head forward with a growl, mouthing at you, licking, biting at whatever skin he could find, which happened to be your ribs, the nip of his teeth sharp enough to make you cry out. You knew that you knew you’d have a mark there tomorrow, one to join the bruises on your hip. But it clearly wasn’t the part of you he’d been aiming for, and he snarled in clear frustration, swinging his head back and forth in a failed attempt to orient before he managed to find your hips with his hands. Your own hands wound up tangled in his hair as he dragged himself roughly over your legs, and fuck, if he was offering, you were happy to take it. You canted your hips, tugging at his hair to direct him. “Here!” you gasped, pushing his head down between your thighs. “Here, Matt, right—”

He buried his face sloppily against your cunt again, not a hint of shame or hesitation in him. His furious, messy lapping at your clit was exactly what you needed. The sound you made was raw and torn, almost a shriek as you suddenly got the stimulation you’d been looking for, your body tightening in rapid waves beneath his mouth. He caught your clit between his lips, growled, and sucked hard enough to have you seeing stars. That was it for you, your back arching as you fisted your hands tightly in his hair and came across his tongue, a flood of wetness drenching his face. With every pulsing wave of pleasure, he let out a satisfied little rumble, sucking in time with the rhythm of your body, dragging your orgasm out until the world burned white. The moment those waves began to ebb, he switched to broad flat licks along the entire length of your cunt, moaning and mindlessly drinking up every last drop, his eyes falling half closed in apparent bliss. 

Which was nice. Until your body started to request a break. 

“Matt,” you choked out, trying to shift away. He instinctively followed, blearily keeping his mouth latched onto your cunt, the pressure on your clit almost painful now. “Matt, that’s—fuck—I need a break, sweetheart, please! Matt!”

The sharp call of his name seemed to snap him out of it, and he finally let you go with a groan. He didn’t get very far, though. All he did was tip his head sideways until it landed on your thigh with a soft thump.  

You let yourself breathe for a minute, twitching now and then when an aftershock rolled through you. When you were feeling a little more able to focus, you finally lifted your head to glance at him. “That,” you wheezed, still panting, “was… we need to do that again. But in… in a while.”

He blinked slowly at you, blissed out and lazy as a lion who’d just had a meal. He hadn’t moved from your thigh, his face still shining and absolutely drenched. Then he grinned. The expression was so absolutely, drunkenly smug that you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. “I take it you’re ok, then?” You snorted, reaching down to stroke your fingers down his wet cheek. 

He blinked at you again, and there was a brief delay before his head turned and he nudged affectionately at your hand. Sometimes when his senses got too overloaded after sex, he needed a few minutes without touch to come down. This time, however, it seemed like touch was what he wanted. 

“You wanna come up here and listen to my heartbeat until your senses are all back online?”

He seemed to think that over for a minute before he slowly started to drag himself up your body. He didn’t even bother to lift his head from you, simply dragging it along your skin as if he were loathe to lose the sensation of you against him. He only ran into a slight hiccup when he bumped into your breasts. He nosed around for a second, huffing briefly, before he found the space between them and continued on. “You’re drunk as hell,” you choked out a laugh, as he rubbed his ear fondly back and forth over your sternum, hunting for whatever spot sounded best. “You’re legitimately pussy drunk. God, I love you.” He finally selected his spot on your chest, his head dropping down to lay against it. The rest of him followed shortly thereafter as he settled down on top of you with a long groan of satisfaction. He rumbled out a contented sigh as you got your fingers in his hair, stroking through the sweat-soaked strands. One of his hands fumbled its way down to your hip. He kneaded clumsily at it, your affections very much returned. “Mhm. Love you, too.” 

“Little more coherent?” “Mm. You taste good.” “So do you. Don’t make me wait so long to get my mouth on you again.”

“Mhm,” he sighed. He absently licked his lips, before purring quietly, his eyes falling shut. “I promise. We’ll share.”

[alltimefail]

Why doesn't Edwin call Charles, "Charlie?"

I shared the isolated audio of Charles' death scene where his "friends" taunted him as they killed him, and in that video, they called him "Charlie." This confirmed what many people in fandom already believed: Charles, a sporty teenage boy in the 80s, would not have gone by his proper first name and likely went by a nickname/shortened version of his name instead.

Now that we know that to be true, it does beg the question: why does Edwin call him Charles? I told you all not to get me started on this in the tags, but you stinkers want me to yap, so let's get into it! 😜

This is a very uninteresting answer, but I think Edwin does not call Charles "Charlie" simply because Charles did not introduce himself as such. Had he introduced himself as Charlie, I don't think Edwin would call him anything else.

This actually brings us to the "meat" of this analysis, and the more important question we need to ask: why would Charles choose not to introduce himself as "Charlie" if that's what people seemed to call him?

I have a couple of theories:

The first one: when Charles meets Edwin he's in a fragile state. A boy he's never seen in all his time at school approaches him, seeming to come out of thin air, just to bring him a lantern without any strings attached (even though Charles cannot give him anything in return). Charles has never experienced that kind of unconditional kindness in his life, and I'm sure that alone was enough to be a bit earth-shaking, mind-scrambling, and intimidating.

But it doesn't end there! The boy who brings the lantern is also claiming to be dead. Delerium/hallucinations are a common symptom of hypothermia so Charles could have though that Edwin was not real or was maybe even some kind of angel-like figure coming to keep him company in his final moments. I mean, the boy's wearing a dated school uniform, enters in a halo glow of golden light, and can walk through walls...it's not the wildest conclusion to jump to.

I think either of thos things individually or a combination of having your guard up, being a bit frazzled from the whole "dying" thing, and believing you're in the presence of an ethereal deity (combined with the fact that you're a people pleaser at your core) is enough to feel compelled to introduce yourself not in formal manner. Not to mention if Edwin introduced himself first, hand outstretched in a formal matter and proper posh accent on full display (something I can totally see him doing), Charles might have felt a bit silly calling himself by such a casual title.

While I think all of this can be varying degrees of true, however, my biggest personal headcanon is that Charles might not have introduced himself as Charlie because who's to say he LIKED that nickname? My circumstances were similar to Charles' growing up, I also had many nicknames from friends and family that I didn't ask for but was given anyway against my will... and I always hated it. Still cringe at some of them to this day, actually! So I think it's possible that Charlie Rowland met Edwin Payne, with all his formal stature and proper professional-sounding name, and took the opportunity to choose what he'd like to go by, without the influence of family or friends. In that way, his chosen identity that would kick off the rest of his existence moving forward (unknown to him at the moment, but true from a narrative standpoint nonetheless) serves as a "Taking your power back" moment for Charles who literally just heard the name "Charlie" being hurled at him as he begged for mercy from people who were supposed to be his friends. Even if he tolerated the nickname "Charlie" before, it certainly wouldn't have fond associations following the event that ended his life (if it had any positive associations to begin with).

Again, speaking from experience, Charlie also sounds like the kind of nickname that could be sugar-sweet on some tongues, innocent even, (his mother cooing over a young Charles), but terrifying from an abusive figure... a scathing kind of mockery. I've always imagined that Charles' dad more than likely called him Charlie, for example, and not in a fond, loving way (in the same way his so-called "friends" were not doing so in a loving way).

So yeah, why would Charles WANT to go by Charlie?

Now that we've established that, we can go back to Edwin...what you came here for!

All that in mind, I still don't see Edwin as the nickname type at all. From a romance standpoint I could maybe see him using a few dated, sappy endearments, but we don't ever hear him use a casual name toward anyone. In his lifetime Charlie would have been a perfectly normal name, but the kind of "fond" nicknaming practices and casual male friendships that happened in 1989 were not common practices in 1916, the Edwardian era. Even with his infinite fondness of Charles, I could never see Edwin uttering "Charlie." It doesn't feel right.

Plus, let's be honest: Edwin says Charles' name with enough love and reverence that he doesn't need to use an endearment. His tone says it all (lol).

Beyond that though, like I said above, I can't see Edwin feeling to impulse to call him "Charlie" because that's not how Charles introduced himself. Edwin strikes me as the kind of person that would be like, "If he wanted to be called Charlie, he surely would have said as much" and left it at that. But a name like Charlie also conveys a sort of youthfulness, and while he and Charles are 16 forever, technically, they have been detached from their lives for a long time and they're MUCH older than 16 in experience and in their professional life.

The only question I was left with, and one I've seen several people ponder, is why Charles would suggest they call The Night Nurse Charlie, (like from Charlie's Angels), as it seems a bit strange if his own name is Charlie/he went by Charlie. My answer/interpretation isn't that exciting, but it's one I feel makes the most sense: I honestly think this can easily be explained away by the fact that Charles is so far removed from that identity and so dissociated from his life that he no longer associates the name "Charlie" with himself in any way. Like it literally didn't even occur to him, in that moment, that Charlie/Charles are so similar because he has built a barrier in his mind between himself and that nickname; they're two entirely different identifiers to him. Whether that be a coping mechanism, or simply just something he wasn't thinking so deeply about (it has been 30 years since anyone called him that, except for Brad and Hunter in Port Townsend), we can't say for sure. However, it's clear Charles does not want to go by Charlie, and at least now we can safely assume why.

Let me know your thoughts! Do you agree with my interpretation? Do you have your own opinion that I didn't cover? Feel free to share with me!

Keep streaming Dead Boy Detectives & screaming about it ! Hugs to each and every one of you! 💜

[abigailkart]

December 30, 2023

[zoolitsky-fandom]

He’s a filthy little whore of a man

[shakingparadigm]

what is the theory that ivan manipulated the event where till and mizi met the wagyein?

It's not a theory, actually! It's confirmed that Ivan orchestrated the whole event. The true reason as to why however is still unknown. The information provides more context to this scene, though:

During the earlier times of ALNST the most rational explanation for this scene was that Till ran after a flower crown (presumably Mizi's) and Ivan followed him in out of curiosity. Now we know that Ivan was conveniently just standing there because he was waiting.

Side note, I find it heartbreaking (and maybe a little funny, sorry) that Till most likely didn't notice Ivan in this scene. That's just like him, isn't it. Always too busy running after Mizi while Ivan trails behind, an ever-present shadow.

I'm not sure how Ivan manipulated the circumstances for both of them to end up there, but it is confirmed that everything was intentional. What strikes me most is how they describe this particular scene:

I can't copy down what they said word-for-word (Patreon info), but they described Ivan watching "creepily" as Till and Mizi are faced with danger. We know that Ivan was familiar with the Cerberus wagyein beforehand, enough to touch its teeth and even to rest himself inside its maw. To Ivan, the wagyein is not dangerous, but to Till and Mizi, it could be. Ivan prepared the wagyein, led them there, and watched "creepily" from afar as Till fell on his knees, seemingly injured.

The closest I can get to making sense of Ivan's "scheme" is that he wanted to see how other children would react in a dangerous situation. Ivan's always been an observer, after all, and he's learned to survive by copying the more "normal" behaviors of his peers. This situation occured when Ivan was still young and had not yet developed his more charming mask, so perhaps he staged this encounter to study a situational response, to learn and mimic the emotion of fear. And what better subjects for the experiment than two of the most expressive and reactive humans of their batch? It helps that he was already fixated on Till beforehand, too. I think Ivan became irreversibly obssessed after this incident, especially since it's framed as a turning point in Ivan's life, comparing Till to the stars.

This is just my attempt at an interpretation, though. It could very well be for another reason. He most likely chose Till and Mizi specifically for personal reasons, not just for reaction. I'm still not sure on the purpose behind the whole thing.

The team wanted to capture Ivan's "dark emotions" through the shot of his stalking, which could relate to his more sinister intentions. His gaze can be read in a few different ways, though. Curiosity, interest, fear, etc. Maybe that's why they decided to redraw the shot in ROUND 6.

I think this better sells the feeling they were trying to convey.

[bonefall]

i think people are calling for a mass extinction event not because disabled people bad/ugly, but because the amount of incest happening is genuinely horrific. that, as well as to a massive amount of cats that bear no significance. if we were talking about a real situation occurring in real life, no one in their right mind would be suggesting this, but this is just the quick and easy way to do it in the context of the books. besides, any method to try to fix this problem is never going to be implemented by the erins because they don't care

This is a call for a mass extinction event because of the inbreeding and this is what I'm talking about. No, they're not just saying there should be a cutback on unneeded background characters. Asks like yours are a major reason why I am collecting screenshots for a folder.

Do not clown around and try to convince me that I'm not seeing what is clear as day. I'm not talking about people who want a mass extinction event because they want less background nobodies, or because it would be an interesting plot. I'm talking about people who respond to MOONPAW's EXISTENCE with "we need to kill most of ThunderClan"

And by the way, killing off a bunch of cats for a "mass extinction" is the exact OPPOSITE of what would fix this problem. You want to mass slaughter random characters so the pool is even SMALLER than it was when we started?? You want us to go back to the beginning of these problems in TPB, when ThunderClan only introduced four female kits who lived to adulthood who could mother the next generation??? THINK.

(Sorreltail, Ferncloud, Sandstorm, Brightheart)

Why is the vastly more common response "KILL THE ICKY" and not "USE THE BRAND NEW LAW THAT ALLOWS CROSS-CLAN MATE MIGRATION" hmmmmmmmmm????

We need to back up, too. Why do YOU think the amount of incest happening is genuinely horrific? Because what this "deformed icky inbred moonpaw" discourse has taught me is that we seem to have VERY different reasons for reaching our conclusions.

I think it is genuinely horrific because this series with a theme about "legacy" should have better rules about what counts as immediate family, the careless Erins prevent their newcoming cats like Stormcloud and Fernstripe from having time in the spotlight, and clan culture's extreme social control over the lives of the cast is cultlike and needs to be addressed as a harmful thing. OTHERS seem to think it is "genuinely horrific" because ThunderClan might have ugly disabled kids. We are not the same.

[rox-of-iu]

ayo guys guess what time it is again :)) 💜💜

spoiler warning for cultivate ch 41-46

hehe finally scrambled brain enough to be able to catch up and cultivate makes me go 🥰🥰😌🤗😊😊

cultivate of course by @neonghostcat beloved

[ice-knife]

hide your bloodshot eyes (i think too much)

~1.9k words, bellarook (pre-relationship), hurt/comfort. one thing to know about me is that i love an antivan crow who is scared to navigate sincere interpersonal relationships but tries anyway. title is from “losing streak” by paper planes. spoilers for the act 2 datv quest “the demon’s bargain” since this takes place immediately after it

The dust hasn’t even had a chance to settle after the last demon has been slain before Bellara suggests “Let’s get Hamuel and Yenarel back to camp.”

“Shouldn’t we go after Cyrian first?” Russo asks, startled. It would only make sense to solve this problem first, since it’s reared its head now. They can keep going, and the other Veil Jumpers could find these two soon enough—

Bellara first answers with silence, and coming from her that says plenty before any actual words can. By the time he’s turned to look at her properly, she’s rearranged whatever expression she’d had before into something… not flat, but trying to be. It’s too dark to manage that.

“He’s gone,” she says finally. Then, with a quick breath and a peppier tone, she adds: “C’mon. Let’s signal the others.”

Russo just nods, and he doesn’t say anything about how she had backed away from Cyrian’s outstretched hand. He can’t forget about it, though. Bellara — who grabs the nearest forearm for emphasis when explaining something exciting, who had hugged Neve after she returned from Minrathous — had recoiled from her little brother’s offer of touch.

He thinks to check in to see how she’s feeling, now that the worst is over. It’s only when he tries to think of what to say, though, that he realizes he doesn’t know where to even start.

Instead, he offers to help set up the signal flare.

⁂

“We need to stop him. No matter what.”

It isn’t an easy conversation for anyone involved. Cyrian was supposed to be dead, and all of the Veil Jumpers who’d known about him had believed that he was. But since he’s apparently alive and working for a Forgotten One, the conversation must be had. Strife is, Russo thinks, trying to be gentle as he talks about what needs to be done, but there’s no doubt in his voice.

“I know, Strife, but…” Bellara still leaves uncertain space around her words, even as she lifts her chin to speak. “I can get through to him. I know I can.”

Irelin voices the thought that had crossed Russo’s mind immediately: “And… if you can’t?”

Bellara’s expression falls, and her gaze goes down with it. At first, Russo thinks she’s gathering her thoughts before answering. As the silence goes on a little longer, he assumes she’s gathering her strength instead. It wouldn’t be surprising.

But then, she finally lifts her eyes again. She looks to him, not to Irelin or even to Strife. There’s strain written all across her face, from the thin line of her lips to the crease between her eyebrows where they’re trying to knit together. His stomach drops as though the earth has started to crumble away under his feet.

“Right,” he says, then realizes that he’s said it. He looks toward the other two and gives a quick nod. “Come on. We should head back to the Lighthouse.”

It isn’t a graceful exit, but it’s a necessary one. Neither of the other Veil Jumpers argue, and Russo turns to follow Bellara, who’d started marching toward the Eluvian as soon as he’d suggested returning.

They don’t say anything during the trip back, as short as the trip from Arlathan Forest to the Lighthouse is. By virtue of her quick pace, Bellara leads the way forward, and Russo isn’t about to ask her to slow down. He wouldn’t know what to say to her even if he could ask, and that’s assuming she would listen.

Something aches between his ribs, the pain present since he realized he didn’t know what to say to comfort her.

Comfort, in his experience, is hard to come by. He’s long since taught himself how to get by with a brave face and a focus on other things. That doesn’t mean, though, that he can’t recognize that Bellara is clearly trying to keep herself together in the wake of so much earth-shattering news. She needs comfort right now. He can’t just leave her to deal with this alone.

She disappears into the Eluvian to return to the Lighthouse while he’s still thinking. Losing sight of her makes that ache throb, and he picks his pace up into a run.

She’s kept her purposeful stride, which means she’s halfway out of the chamber by the time Russo catches up. “Bellara, wait,” he calls as soon as he sees her again, hoping to get her attention even if she doesn’t stop.

But then, she does. She doesn’t turn to face him, but she does stop walking. He slows to a stop just one pace behind her, but his heart keeps going as though in a dead sprint.

“…Bellara,” he repeats. “I’m… I…” Try as he might, he can’t find the words to follow up.

But he could put a hand on her shoulder. Would she appreciate that, when she’d backed away from Cyrian’s hand?

“C… Can I…?” The words still aren’t coming, so he tries anyway. He reaches his hand out to rest on the back of her upper arm. It would be easy for her to shrug him away if she didn’t want him there. The warmth of her skin seeps through her shirt and his thin glove.

She moves suddenly, and he takes his hand back. Surprisingly, he realizes he can see her face; she’s looking up at him again, her eyes glittering and her chin wobbling dangerously from the intense curve of her frown—

He has just long enough to register her expression before it’s been hidden in his shoulder, and her arms are wrapped around his ribs.

Stunned, he stands rigidly in place as he takes stock of what’s happened. Not only had Bellara not actually shrugged his touch away, but now she was pressed against him with her whole body. Her hands had curled into fists and found purchase on his cape, and she’s holding onto him as though letting go would mean drifting away. It doesn’t quite make sense. Not, at least, until a keening sob escapes her, and she buries her face further into his shoulder.

He realizes, then, that his heart is still pounding.

He realizes as well, shortly afterward, that Bellara is trembling a little against him.

With a shuddering exhale — had he been holding his breath? — he’s able to command his limbs again, and he wraps her in a hug of his own, arms securely around her shoulders. She makes another little noise as he does, a gasp in between sobs, but she doesn’t try to move away at all. Instead, she burrows against him even closer. Encouraged, he closes his eyes and bows his head a little, resting it against hers.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers.

She says something that’s probably meant to be an answer, but it’s lost in the fabric of his cape. No matter. He tightens his grip in a squeeze for a moment before giving slack again, to reaffirm for her that his words were true.

Somehow she starts crying harder in response, which sends a bolt of panic through him. He doesn’t have the benefit of practice to know whether or not this is a bad sign, or if there’s anything he isn’t doing that he should be doing. However, she doesn’t let him go even as she weeps, and so he holds on just as she does.

“…‘Msorry,” she mumbles after some time.

“Hey,” he answers, his voice gentle. “It’s all right.”

“I-I know you… don’t like to touch…”

It’s true, and he knows she knows that. He also knows she’s prone to forgetting things, although she’s been consistent about asking for permission before touching him, ordinarily. More than that, though, he knows this — her dead brother appearing in the flesh to tell her he’s been killing her fellow Veil Jumpers under the orders of a Forgotten One — is far an ordinary circumstance.

“It’s all right,” he repeats. “You’re all right. I… I think you need this.”

Bellara sniffles, then nods against his shoulder. “Yeah…” Her voice catches on the single syllable, and another sob follows it.

“I’m here,” he swears.

That must be the right thing to say, because even as she hides her face once more, he can feel the tension in her shoulders ebb away little by little. He keeps her close, as close as she needs, as her crying becomes more and more quiet.

Time always feels a little strange in proximity of the Eluvian. He could have already been holding her for a few minutes or a few hours, or even a few days, and he wouldn’t know the difference. As long as she’s solid in his arms like this, he doesn’t think it matters too much.

By a certain point, she’s stopped trembling but still hasn’t let go. Russo starts to wonder if she’s now just crying silently. Hoping to help without rushing her, he shifts his weight slowly from one foot to the other, bringing her with him as he moves. She leans into him more, he notices, as he starts to sway like this.

“Feeling any better?” he asks, a little cautiously still.

“A little.” He hadn’t been expecting her voice to sound as clear as it does — she isn’t back to normal yet, and he wouldn’t expect her to be, but her tears must have stopped.

He stops swaying and lifts his head away from hers, and she lifts her head out of his shoulder as well. The red in and around her eyes brings the ache he’d felt earlier to the fore once again. When he looks at the rest of her face, though, despite the tear tracks across her face and the texture of his cape imprinted onto her cheek, he finds a soft smile. Soft and, most importantly, free from the effort of trying to hold herself together.

“You look better.”

“Pfff.” He hadn’t meant the remark as a joke, but he doesn’t stop her from laughing. “No, I don’t,” she continues. “I’m sure I look like a mess. O-Oh, no, I just cried all over you…”

Ah. She’s already three emotions ahead of him again. “Bellara, it’s all right,” he assures. “Like I said, you needed this. I really don’t mind.”

She opens her mouth like she’s about to correct him, but something seems to make her second-guess that approach. Instead, she blinks, and then that soft smile returns. “Okay. …Thanks, Rook. I really, really did. Need this, I mean.”

“I’m glad I could help.” He finds himself smiling, too, the feeling comfortable in his cheeks.

He feels her grip on his cape loosen; taking this as a cue, he finally lets go of the hug. Almost immediately her absence leaves him feeling cooler, the emptiness of the space she no longer occupies now a tangible thing. She doesn’t stray far just yet, and she first wipes at her face with her hands, then puts her hands behind her back, the way she does when she’s thinking.

“Do you… Do you want some tea?” she asks. “I should probably have something to drink, after all of that. We could ask Manfred to make some. I bet he’d like to.”

Oh. She doesn’t want to part ways just yet. “Sure. Tea sounds really good.”

He’s ready to follow her out to the courtyard, but she falls into step beside him. The flapping bird of his heart finally calms as they walk out of the chamber together.

[pinkytoothlesso11]

Reasons why Jinx is alive– A fully comprehensive evidence analysis

Right. So I've seen a lot of people with conflicting views on if Jimx survived at the end of Arcane season 2, and I have been itching to do a meta post on the subject, so here it goes!

The first piece of evidence that I found particularly noteworthy was the explosion itself. By going frame by frame it was possible to see this:

It's a blink and you miss it kind of scene, but this is right after the explosion, and you can see the clear pink line going into one of the vents. Now why is this important? Well, it's simple, it's the shimmer effect that happens when Jinx is moving very fast! I know that Warwick was holding onto Jinx, but in a explosion its perfectly plausible for her to get out of that grip using the explosion of her monkey bomb.

Then we have the scene where Caitlyn is inspecting the plans for the Hexgates.

There is literally no reason for her to look at these plans. Not unless she thought there was something she missed...

There's no dialogue here, so it's really just based on what she does and how she reacts. Most notably what she's holding.

It's the head of one of Jinx's notorious monkey bombs. What's more, it's clearly damaged and singed. So likely this is the very same monkey bomb Jinx used in the Hexgates. This also suggests that Caitlyn might have been searching for evidence of Jinx's dead body... and clearly didn't find it for her to be holding Jinx's bomb head and then searching on the plans. Which brings me to the focus changing to this:

The vents we see the streak of pink shimmer light go inside correlate to the plans as shown above. The vents connect to the air ducts which connect to the outside. After this, the camera goes back to Caitlyn and we see her look at the monkey bomb head and then smile.

Then we get to the most telling piece of evidence that Jinx survived and left Zaun and Piltover behind, which is definitely a controversial choice on the writers part and does come across that they just want the option to bring in Jinx whenever they want in later stories taking place in Noxus, Ionia and Demacia. Which is very Marvel like lol. This is namely the air blimp at the end shot of the show.

What I find interesting is the fact it mirrors exactly the very first time we see Powder in episode 1 of Arcane season 1 when we see one of these air blimps.

The difference in these shots is that the one from season one is going TOWARDS Piltover, and the one from end of season 2 is going AWAY across the sea. The only difference in the ships themselves is the streak of blue you can just about see on the side of the hull. Maybe a further hint that Jinx is indeed on board that blimp.

Obviously it is what Powder says about the air blimp in season one that truly gives some solid evidence Jinx escaped on the air blimp heading for the sea:

Well, it seems Powder was right about that... the shots being so similar is clearly not a coincidence.

This is made all the more evident with the very last seconds of screen time of the show. It ends with Jinx's signature scribbles taking over the screen for three seconds with the words 'The end' written across.

Some people I've seen commenting on the fact the letter E on 'the' is reversed, but I think that's just a style choice in line with Jinx's graffiti so far. What is significant here is the fact it's so evidently Jinx's mark straight after the air blimp that resembeled the one in the first episode of Arcane season one.

Annnnd there's just one more thing now. I promise I'm almost done lol.

The lyrics to the song Wasteland that plays during episode 8, when Jinx is about to try and end her life are as follows:

This world is a wasteland where nothing can grow

I used to have strength but I ran out of hope

I know it’s my fault that I'm here all alone

This world is a wasteland

Please let me go, go, go, go, go, go, go

But then the lyrics change in the last chorus, they go from Jinx preparing to end her life for good, to THIS:

This world is a wasteland where nothing can grow

If it weren’t for you I’d be here all alone

I know in my heart this is where we belong

This world is a wasteland

Don’t let me go, go, go, go, go, go, go

Don't let me go

I feel it's likely that the line 'if it weren't for you I'd be here all alone' is referring to Ekko. Because it's Ekko who stopped Jinx from killing herself. And then of course the biggest change, from 'please let me go' to 'don't let me go' Jinx isn't ready to say goodbye. She wants to stay living. And I think it's this that plays in her 'sacrifice' scene with Warwick. It's not her giving up on life, it's her accepting that her life has changed and she needs to break the cycle by moving on. Not for anyone else, but for herself.

Let me know in the comments or reblogs your thoughts on this! And thank you for reading if you got this far lol.

[sleepymrshmllow]

can I just say how much I love stolitz and how messy, complicated, and tragic it is

it's going to feel SO good and rewarding once they're on the same page and learn to grow (both by themselves and together) and be in a relationship- no ties no transactions. just a genuine partnership

also I commend the writers for writing a miscommunication scene that didn't feel frustrating to watch (for the wrong reasons, at least) and was actually so fucking smart and well written. I cannot wait to see how this develops the rest of the season and beyond

[mars-ipan]

Mars i fear i may be dying of the plague. I have coughed blood into my sink twice now and my throat feels like I gave really aggressive oral to a scrubdaddy spongue.

Do you have any priest au thoughts/scenarios/rambles to sooth a troublde lad such as mysrlf🙏🙏

hemo. as a guy who has also coughed up blood somewhat recently. it may be time to go to an urgent care and make sure it’s nothing serious. there’s a pretty nasty pneumonia going around rn and if that IS what it is the sooner you get those antibiotics the faster you’ll recover.

as for priest au stuffs: the election kinda killed my creative flow (we’re ballin but we’re stressed) BUT i’ve been trying to flesh out hajime’s backstory a bit for the the past few days so here’s some bullet point brainstorming on that :D

check under the cut for the goods, as per usual ^_^ tw for mentions of child abuse, and also a general warning for priest au-typical horny talk and homophobia

i’ve been thinking abt hajime’s childhood/past a lot, partially bc i don’t feel fully confident writing him until i have the details of his backstory fleshed out. i think his dad was more of the aggressive “no son of mine” type of homophobic, where his mom was more of the “hate the sin love the sinner” type of homophobic. it’s cliché maybe but like. traditional catholic family values yanno. his family does differ from traditional catholicism in one way though: hajime is an only child.

i don’t think hajime was ever The Manliest Man growing up. yeah he was strong from helping on the farm, but he never felt the need to flaunt his masculine attributes. he never wanted to impress girls, he never initiated an arm-wrestling contest, and once he hit teenagerhood he quit wrestling with his friends altogether. when his friends asked him why he never roughhouses with them anymore, he tensed up and mumbled something about it being “weird” and “immature.”

he showed a lot of delicacy towards nature as well, a trait he carries into adulthood! rescuing turtles from roads, gently rehoming bugs, taking care not to step on wildflowers, that sort of thing. he was teased for this growing up :( he’d be compared to a disney princess and the like or just be called a pussy for Caring About The World Around Him. while he still loves nature and knows there’s nothing wrong with that, he does get embarrassed if his gentleness is pointed out— he’s anticipating some sort of reprimand.

been trying to think about hajime’s gay awakening. i imagine once he hit puberty he started having vague… thoughts. they weren’t attached to anyone but he kept it secret anyways since Lust Is A Sin and Masturbation Is A Sin Too and he’s not interested in growing hair on his palms or going blind (he later finds out that those are myths, but for now he heeds the tales), nor is he interested in the scolding he would get from his parents if they found out. from there we have two main options as i see it.

option A: in a parallel of the magazine he finds in Jabberwock, teen!hajime comes across some sort of gay porn. it’s completely accidental— he finds a mag or some other paraphernalia in a log or something, opens it, Realizes what is is, looks around for witnesses, and quickly stuffs it into his jacket. he’s not even sure why, but he knows he’s curious. as soon as he gets home he hides it between his mattress and his bedframe, and that night, when he’s sure his parents are asleep, he grabs a flashlight and starts to look through it. he doesn’t understand why he’s so fascinated until he realizes: he’s breathing heavily, hot in the face, absentmindedly rubbing his thighs together, and, most incriminatingly of all, he’s the hardest he’s ever been in his life. mortified, he shoves the magazine back under his mattress and tries his best to forget about what he saw, tossing and turning as he tries to calm down and go to sleep.

option B: hajime is really close with one of his peers. they’re childhood friends, and they’ve gotten along great forever. at some point, though, hajime starts feeling weird around him. not BAD weird, but… he’s nervous, and his skin seems to buzz whenever they touch, and his heart flutters when he makes his friend laugh, and… he can’t make sense of it all. not until he wakes up one night from a particularly vivid dream, chest heaving, skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat, and his sheets soiled with the evidence of his subconscious sin. he realizes what’s going on, and his heart sinks into his stomach. he does his best to ignore it, but it haunts him.

we could also combine these options and say both of these things happen, but idk yet. i like the loneliness of the porn but i also like the guilt of having to talk to your close friend and pretend you aren’t feeling confusing and frightening things for them.

hajime lives at home until his early adulthood, when he is Caught. if we went with option A for his awakening, then he comes home one day to find The Porn sitting on the kitchen table, its pages now crinkled from years of viewing, and his heart sinks into his stomach. he’s not sure how they found it— maybe his mom was cleaning his room and lifted his mattress? but it doesn’t matter— they Know now, and he has no way to explain himself.

if we go with option B, hajime is caught with that “good friend” of his. he had snuck in via hajime’s bedroom window, at a time they both were sure hajime’s parents would be asleep. unfortunately, hajime’s dad comes up to his room (hajime never learns the original intent of this visit) and opens the door to find his son, hair and clothes a mess, with the neighbor boy straddling his thighs, hands clearly paused in the middle of lifting up his son’s shirt. it’s silent for a bit, and the tension in the air is so heavy hajime feels like he can barely breathe. still, he breaks out of the stupor first, muttering a quiet “you need to go” to his friend without breaking eye contact with his father. the friend gets the message and bolts, leaving via the same window he came from. hajime is now alone with his father, so guilty and scared that he feels nauseous.

regardless of which of these events occurs, the outcome is the same. hajime’s father responds first, yelling and berating. hajime is terrified— he’s seen his dad mad, but never like this. never shouting obscenities and vile words at him. when told to explain himself hajime stumbles over his words, eventually landing on some variant of “i don’t know.” eventually, his father decides words aren’t punishment enough, and hajime gets the shit beat out of him for the first time in his life. he tries to defend himself, but he’s never been much of a fighter, and he doesn’t want to hit his dad, self defense or not. when his father finally storms off, his mother comes near, her eyes brimming with tears. she holds her arms out to hajime, tells her baby to come here. hajime, aching and bruised and perhaps with a freshly broken nose, collapses into his mother’s arms, silently crying into her shoulder as she pets his hair. she holds him close, rocking them from side to side, before she speaks. “oh, hajime, darling,” she starts, voice thick with tears and love, “i’m sorry. we’ve failed you, haven’t we? that’s why you’re doing this to us.” hajime’s stomach curdles at those words, and he quickly excuses himself, washing the blood off his face in the bathroom sink before he locks himself in his room.

regardless of the guilt he carries— he knew he was sinning, after all— hajime knows he is no longer safe at home. his father had never beat him like that before, and he doesn’t know that he would be able to walk away if it happened again. he doesn’t want to leave his mother, but he could tell that she was disgusted by him, too, her words still echoing in his mind. so, hajime packs as many of his things as he can fit into his suitcase, and the next day he leaves town, never letting himself look back. he job hops for a bit before he manages to get his house in Jabberwock— he got really, really lucky with the price of the property.

hajime hasn’t talked to anyone from his hometown since he left, and while he still has his parents’ landline number memorized, he doesn’t dare call. his dad’s probably disowned him, anyhow. sometimes he wonders how the people he grew up with are doing, but he can’t bring himself to go back. it’s not home anymore.

[bloodyarson]

okay but a thing i think about every time we have one of those few day periods where the weather is not fit for even a dog being outside is how the hell are homeless people surviving this. like i said in a previous post it's currently -40 degrees with the windchill and i honestly cannot imagine how someone who does not have a place to go inside and spend the night is supposed to not freeze to death. it makes me upset every time the temperature drops like this, i cannot imagine how many homeless people will be frozen to death in the next 24 hours if they somehow haven't already. the fact that there are hundreds of empty houses sitting there empty with totally functional heating while people are DYING from the cold on a street corner makes me SO FUCKING ANGRY while at the same time my heart is breaking in pieces for them. rest in peace to every poor person who will not make it through the weekend. i am so sorry.

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

season 1 episode 13 thoughts

A SCULLY EPISODE!!!! i was overjoyed and then i felt deep and immeasurable grief as the minutes went by.

she wants to leave her christmas tree up all year <3 she's a good cook <3 her dad calls her starbuck <3

but her dad is being avoidant! he didn't even say i love you when he left!

! dana scully lore reveal ! her dad lowkey sucks!!!

and then he IMMEDIATELY DIED right after! that is sick and twisted. why do they make my girl endure such pain.

the next note i made for the episode was "omg windows you have to crank!" which was a brief moment of levity among the Sorrow. except even the guy doing the said window cranking was kidnapped right after. still, the novelty of it all!

when scully came into work even though her dad had just died... we see mulder call her "dana" for the first time... she was visibly taken aback by this... and mumbled her name back to herself... my heart was melting out of my body

and when i thought i was going to already collapse from the "dana" moment, he tells her she should take some time for herself and then. softly cups her cheek. and strokes it with his thumb. holy fuck i nearly sobbed. it was the softest thing i have ever seen. what the hell man.

he has this instinctive need to touch her. to use his touch to keep her safe or bring her comfort. it will be psychoanalyzed at a later date from me but for now, know i am noticing the motifs.

(also, when he finally left his office, we see that he kept the hat from the alien obsessed guy in episode 10... good to know this is a man who takes souvenirs. take him to the zoo and see what he comes back with)

so then we cutscene to her dad's funeral and we learn that her father was in the navy- perhaps this is why he is unduly harsh. and then we got ANOTHER scene that beat my heart into a pulp: scully turning to her mom and asking "was he proud of me?" her mom waits for a beat and says "he was your father". HEY! THAT'S NOT AN ANSWER!!!!!!!!!

(who wouldn't be proud of scully? i'm taking names. write them down)

when interrogating the death row psychic mulder once again said "i want to believe" and i once again wrote in my episode notes "HE SAID THE LINE!"

interesting that this is an episode where scully believes and mulder doesn't, almost immediately from the beginning of the episode. but the psychic says stuff her dad would say and therefore she gets emotionally invested even though mulder says it's nonsense, and that this guy is setting them a trap because mulder got him put on death row. and when she listens to the psychic's clue and find evidence at an abandoned warehouse, mulder yells at her for putting herself in danger. to which she said:

"i thought you'd be pleased i opened myself to extreme possibilities"

scully i am REACHING through the screen and telling you i'm proud of you in case no one ever did that before

(and MAYBE mulder yelling at her for putting herself in danger because he thinks he needs to protect her WAS deeply satisfying but still. read the room my king)

(also revealed in this scene: mulder is a jimi hendrix fan. i am tucking this knowledge in my pocket and storing it safely)

then the psychic decided to reveal some of her personal memories and we learn she stole a cigarette when she was 14 and she thought it was disgusting but she wanting to do something they would disapprove of. and she was so scared but so excited. are you kidding me? are you absolutely kidding me. the need to rebel from an assigned role in which she feels she MUST be perfect has haunted her from a young age, and when she finally did something her parents really disprove of- joined the FBI instead of working as a doctor- she's met with rejection. so now we know she's had this terrible need to do what pleases those she loves and to break that is a rush from its inherent moral Wrongness. the isolation of being the Good Child who does what She's Told vs. the isolation of being the Less Good Child who loses their parent's approval. that terrible ache of knowing you once pleased them and now you don't. the conditional nature of affection. ohhhhh good lord.

later mulder gets shot and scully thinks the psychic lured him into a trap which leads to her screaming at him (like SERIOUSLY screaming) that if mulder dies, she'll kill the psychic herself. now this was especially crazy because we have only at this point seen her yell once before which was in episode 8, but this was 10x that intensity. also wild for revealing that she will kill anyone who hurts mulder. once again i say holy FUCK.

mulder is wheeled in to the hospital and still telling her not to believe him, says that he's luring her into another trap. at this point i was yelling "TELL MULDER HE KNEW ABOUT YOUR DAD!" but she was too deep in the grief to bring it up

(throughout the entire episode she is hallucinating her dad in places he isn't, which is arguably far more impactful than just seeing her cry)

when the psychic reveals the location of the murderer and they go to check it out, scully straight up shoots the suspect. she is NOT playing around, y'all. i think this is the first time we see her shoot someone, which is already a lot to unpack. but then she doesn't follow the killer because the psychic had warned her against it and in this way he saves her life.

then she says thank you to the psychic, who says "come to my execution and i'll give your father's message to you" and she DOESN'T GO. mulder asks her why, because now he seems to think that psychic dude really WAS telling the truth, and she no longer does:

"why can't you believe?" "because i'm scared"

she's scared!! she's scared to believe. she's scared to know what is out there and she seemed scared to know what her father had to say. isn't there enough uncertainty in this world ruled by facts and science? what could the possibilities be like beyond that? why believe in what you cannot control? she says she knew what he would say because "he's my father". is that enough for her? or was she too frightened to hear that he wasn't proud of her?

overall i've said "holy fuck" like a LOT during this recap and i truly feel that those are the only words i have for the situation. getting to see more scully lore was EXACTLY what i was hoping for and i'm so pleased but also so so so sad. like she keeps her christmas tree up and she's a good cook and she has this terrible need for her father's approval that he won't give and then he goes and dies. i need about 10 beach episodes to make up for the sadness here. chris carter i'm in ur walls.

[nyxofdemons]

this was going to be like a mile long essay but i just realized the most concise way to say it is that "it feels like a retcon that blitz has been so resentful and hostile towards fizz all this time since he was supposed to feel guilty" is simply not a good criticism when we have been shown, time and time again, that blitz's number one defense mechanism when he feels guilty or judged or attacked is to lash out, to deflect and ignore all his responsibility, and to shift the blame to someone else. that's like. his defining character flaw

[confessyourship]

At the beginning of September I learned of an altercation, so to speak, between some users who said they were going to rape and make another user (let's call her Abigail) scream in pain for being a pedophile. Abigail in question ended up saying goodbye on Facebook because she herself was a victim of pedophilia and that affected her and her friend exposed the users and these guys justified themselves by saying that they were minors when Abigail was also a minor, because the antis are so... cynics??

🩷